Black Diamond

by Ja'Nese Dixon

  He nodded. Derek did not share a lot of information with him, but Marc understood the severity of the situation.

  “What is it you think I can do to help you?”

  “I’m not sure. What did you do with the CIA?”

  “I worked with international terrorist organizations. I can’t promise anything because it is difficult to clear information across agencies.” He seemed to say the last sentence with concern.

  She knew of the rift between the agencies, but Derek had to believe he would be valuable in solving this case.

  They both sat in silence, their minds deep in thought.

  “How many of the organizations that you’ve dealt with have been known to deal with conflict diamonds?”

  He seemed to sit up straighter. “Conflict diamonds?” he asked, frowning.

  “Yes, how else would they have access?” She gave him time to digest what she was implying.

  “Let me get this straight, you think they’re trafficking conflict diamonds?” The weight of his statement hit them both; such allegations were dangerous.

  “Basically, yes…” she finally answered him.

  “Are you crazy?” he replied.

  His question caused her to stiffen with offense. He continued before she could respond. “Those groups are deadly. They won’t just idly sit by while you expose a billion dollar illegal business. They’re called blood diamonds for a reason, and they will not hesitate to kill you or anyone else that stands in their way.”

  Camille felt the small bond between them dissipate before her eyes. He all but made her sound incapable of handling the case.

  “I know what I’m doing, and I am fully aware of the reputation of these groups. But, at this time, it’s only a suspicion.”

  “What will you do if your suspicion is true? What if they are responsible for Harold’s death?” His relax posture was gone. He was an octave away from yelling.

  Camille refused to think about why he cared. She did not like the direction of their conversation. She had let the thought pass through her mind, but there was no time to explore the consequences. She had a case to solve and she would do it…with or without him.

  She leaned forward and in a potent hiss, warned him “I don’t appreciate you questioning my competence as an agent. Now, either you help or you don’t.”

  It was now his turn to stiffen in response to the gauntlet she laid at his feet. She would have laughed at the surprised look on his face if he hadn’t just provoked her. She’d dealt with men always questioning her skills as an agent because she was a woman. She would not sit still and let him insult her.

  “So blushing Camille is now the big bad agent. Ha!”

  “You know what, Marc,” she stood and threw her napkin on the table. “If you’re trying to piss me off, it worked.”

  Marc watched Camille march away from the table. His mouth hung open in shock. He would have laughed if she wasn’t so upset. Her name was fitting—she was like a chameleon. She went from blushing, freckled face, and innocent to a hellion on wheels…and he liked it!

  Marc signaled the waiter. He would have to hurry to catch her. Thankfully, in Houston taxicabs didn’t hang around. She would have to wait for him or call a cab. He paid their bill leaving a generous tip for the waiter.

  He retraced Camille’s steps. Marc glided through the restaurant, not aware of the appreciative eyes that followed his full stride, his arms gracefully propelling him closer to his desire. He wanted her. If he doubted it before he was sure of it now. He was determined to do three things: beg her forgiveness, help her find this group, and get her in his bed.

  Artista was on the second floor, he took the stairs in haste. He could see her through the glass-paneled doors, sitting on a bench watching cars pass by. Her back was erect and her hands rested on her knees. Her left fingers were gently tapping, as if she was playing piano scales. He approached with deliberate steps.

  Camille must have heard him approach because her head turned in his direction. Her soft features hardened, brows wrinkled and her kissable lips pouted in disapproval. The street light illuminated the anger beaming from her beautiful eyes.

  He knew female agents had a hard time. They did not receive the same respect as their male counterparts. Usually, they compromised their entire lives to pursue their careers. Whereas many men have wives at home caring for their children them the facade of a normal life.

  He held her stare long enough to see the hurt expression that softened her gaze before she turned back toward the street. He took a step closer toward the bench. She slid over as if trying to distance herself from his presence. He felt his heart drop.

  Marc’s gaze lifted toward the sky as he tried to gather his thoughts. He could not mess this up. He had to apologize but he wasn’t good at that.

  He took several deep breathes before refocusing on her stern face. Just moments earlier, the flutter of her laughter had warmed him. He wanted to know more about her, but getting to know her would be impossible without first apologizing.

  He took another step. She slid to the very end of the bench. One more inch and she would hit the concrete. Damn, she was mad, he thought to himself before he let out a chuckle. Her lethal glaze froze him. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the rest of his laughter behind his hand.

  Marc lowered to sit on the bench next to Camille. She did not move. He decided to test her resolve by moving closer. He saw her look toward the edge of the bench assessing whether she could move another inch but he knew she couldn’t. She didn’t move.

  He reached up and played with one of her ringlets. She flinched, but did not pull away. The glow from the street lamp made her highlights appear like beams of radiant light surrounding her latte-colored face.

  “Camille…” She stiffened, and he could see her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Humph…”

  This would be harder than he thought. He released the ringlet and reached for her hand. She did not snatch away. That was a good sign.

  “I’m…sorry,” he whispered.

  She pulled her hand away and folded her arms across her stomach. His nearness gave him access to the hollow of her neck. He let his eyes do the things he’d dare not do. His eyes swept her from the crown of her glorious head and down the length of her neck. The fullness of her breast on her petite body made him release a slight groan.

  Their eyes met.

  She whispered, “Please, take me home.”

  He stood and extended his hand to assist her. She looked at it, but didn’t reach for it.

  “Camille, I know your job as an agent is filled with people doubting you because of your gender and I’m sure you have it worse since you’re a black woman working in a profession full of white men. I apologize that I let my concern for your safety cause me to overreact.”

  He sat back down.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try my best to control my outbursts. Please think about it from my position. I have worked with the agency for twenty years. I know these groups. I’ve seen these people rape and kill in the name of greed and money. You cannot fault me for my apprehension. I had no right to question your choice, but I will not apologize for my concern.”

  He waited. He would sit there the entire night if need be. The longer they sat, the more he felt himself drawn to her. Her anger showed him a lot. She loved her job and she was no pushover. He usually controlled situations with women, but he’d have to tread lightly with Camille if he planned to get to know her.

  They sat in a silent standoff for nearly ten minutes before she said, “Marc, I accept your apology, but don’t you ever insult my intelligence or my commitment to my job. You will respect me or you can drop me off at home and forget you ever met me.”

  Oh, he would not forget. Nevertheless, he would stand by his assessment. She could not underestimate the power of the people she was hunting, because he knew, all too well, that pursuing them could turn the hunter into the prey.

/>   Chapter 8

  Ashanta looked around the parking lot as a quiet voice told her to be careful. In her hands, she held a package that had all the documents she had saved. She reached for the locket around her neck and hastily put it inside a padded envelope. Following her instincts, she addressed it to Camille’s home address. Sealing the package, Ashanta held it to her chest as if her life depended on it.

  While gathering the documents at IJDC she moved in shock still finding it hard to believe Harold was dead. They had made love the night before, now she wished she’d stayed the night with him. She had an eerie feeling that someone had murdered him and if so, she would have to be very careful because his death could mean she was next.

  She looked over her shoulder and did not notice anything out of the ordinary. The parking lot was clear except for a few random people walking along the sidewalk, enjoying an every evening stroll. Ashanta reached for her purse behind the passenger seat. She dug around, feeling for her cell phone. She found it and called Camille. The phone rang once before she heard the voice mail prompting.

  “Cami, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. So much has happened.” She exited the car still leaving a message for Camille. “I need to talk with you as soon as you get this message. Okay…”

  Ashanta paused in front of the drop box on the first floor of her complex. She kissed the package and dropped it in. “…I’ll be at home for the rest of the evening waiting for your…what are you doing here?”

  “Hello to you, too.”

  He stepped closer smiling as if he was happy to see her, but looks could be deceiving. Ashanta always wondered how a physically beautiful man could be the source of never-ending pain and suffering.

  Her initial shock subsided into trepidation upon realizing he was in Houston. She could not form a coherent sentence even if her life depended on it – and she knew it did.

  “How about we move this conversation upstairs?” he more than suggested.

  She nodded remembering that she was leaving Camille a message. She disconnected the line and threw her phone into her purse.

  “After you,” he said gesturing toward the stairs.

  She paused. She thought to run, but she had to know if her mother was dead or alive and running would only be a temporary fix. She knew he would find her. He always did.

  “What’s the matter? You’re usually so talkative.”

  They both knew he was referencing their last conversation. Ashanta looked towards the stairs. She could hear someone coming down the stairwell as he slithered to her side, wrapping her arm in a firm grip. He tightened his hold, moving them forward.

  They began to climb the stairs. As they approached the landing for her floor, she saw a neighbor.

  “Hey, girl.” Beatrice was another young professional in the building. They clubbed with from time to time.

  “Hey.”

  The tightening of his hold stopped her from extending the conversation. Ashanta cringed at the look Beatrice was giving him. If only she knew.

  “Girl, you always have a fine man at your side.” Beatrice whispered behind her hand as if she and Ashanta were sharing a delectable secret. Her eyes never left the tall dark handsome stranger before them. She licked her lips and batted her eyes taking a step closer, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

  He stood with a manly look of appreciation as he surveyed her low-cut shirt with snug jeans. He eyed Beatrice from head to toe. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

  Ashanta looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “Beatrice this is Talib Kamwi. Talib, Beatrice,” she muttered.

  “Nice to meet you,” Beatrice said extending her hand.

  Ashanta could not believe this heifer was blushing and carrying on. Talib grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.

  Unbelievable, she thought.

  “Same here,” he said still cradling her hand. The fine creases that outlined his anger-filled eyes minutes before had receded. He held her hand, leaving Beatrice in a babbling stupor.

  Beatrice giggled and wistfully said, “You have a wonderful accent. Where are you from?”

  “I'm a traveling businessman, but I tend to settle in Libya often,” he flashed a smile, one known for making women disrobe without question.

  Ashanta cleared her throat to break up their happy conversation.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I’ll leave you alone. Nice meeting you, Talib.” Beatrice walked backwards, retracing her steps, still holding his gaze. She gave him a fingered wave before heading back down the staircase.

  “Open the door.” Satan’s spawn was back.

  She searched for her keys. What was she going to do? It seemed to be the question of her life. She tried to steady her hands as she attempted to insert the key into the bolt lock. He snatched the keys and unlocked the door, shoving her inside.

  Once inside Ashanta pivoted, faced him, and prepared to ask him about his unexpected visit. However, before she could open her mouth she felt the impact of his open-handed slap across her left cheek.

  She gripped her face as she look intently into his eyes. What she saw caused her to take several steps backwards. He matched her step for step as if they were ballroom dancing.

  Ashanta turned and tried to dart from his reach. He moved, blocking her flight. She threw her hands up, clawing at him, trying to stop the slap she saw coming.

  Talib drew back and connected with her face again causing her to stumble to the floor. He knelt over her, their noses inches apart.

  “Surprise,” he hissed.

  Ashanta cupped her cheek. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins and the swelling causing her left eye to close. Her face was on fire. She scurried on the floor to put distance between them.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as she pulled her body closer to the couch.

  “I am here to see you.”

  He stood and walked in her direction. He reached for her chin. Ashanta flinched. He turned her face from left to right examining the damage he’d done to her face.

  “I always thought you were a beautiful girl that bloomed into a beautiful woman. But you’re too smart for your own good. You refuse to follow simple directions.” His grip on her chin tightened, causing her to wince.

  “Talib, I did not sign up for this. I want no part in whatever you’re involved in.”

  “Too late, my dear, it’s too late.” He let her go.

  She moved to the end of the couch as he lowered his body to sit next to her.

  She faced him, calming herself and asked, “How is my mother?”

  A lethal smile crossed his face. “She’s in a better place.”

  Ashanta exploded. She leaped across the couch. She kicked and swung at him, landing several punches against his solid chest. They struggled until he shoved her. She bounced, inhaled and lunged at him again.

  “You are the devil! I hope your sorry ass rots in hell for what you’ve done.”

  Her piercing wail rang through the condo. He grew tired of her attack and lifted her nearly one hundred-and-forty pound body with little effort and threw her. She sailed across the room like an old Raggedy Ann doll.

  He stalked across the room until he stood over her, “When you make a deal with me, you will pay up, one way or another.”

  Pain pulsated through her body. She sat up with both hands on the floor hunched over as she coughed uncontrollably. She wiped her mouth and lifted her hand to see blood.

  She watched him walk to her kitchen. Her left eye was swollen shut, but she tried to keep him in view. He reentered the living room with a towel and a glass of juice.

  “Here, clean yourself up. We have some things to discuss.”

  He reached down and helped her to her feet. He supported her by circling his arms around her body, guiding her to the couch.

  Ashanta gently wiped her face with the towel. She looked at him with all the courage she could muster, given the pain and fear she
was experiencing. She knew that if he killed her mother—and probably Harold too—he would not think twice about killing her.

  Ashanta waited. He sat back on the loveseat that faced her with his elbows resting on either side of him, hands clasped, suspended in air almost level with his mouth.

  “How are you?”

  Ashanta tensed as if being slapped again. She refused to answer that question knowing that, if given the opportunity, she would kill him with her bare hands.